


All Things New

by Kemmasandi



Series: In Which Old Friends Get Up To Dodgy Tricks [8]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: First Times, Oral Sex, Other, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Robot Contraception, Sticky Sex, valve play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemmasandi/pseuds/Kemmasandi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus and Ratchet's much-delayed first time doesn't quite go off without a hitch, but that's what practice is for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Things New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MlleMusketeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/gifts).



> **Title:** All Things New  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Continuity:** Transformers: Prime  
>  **Word Count:** 6044  
>  **Characters/Pairings:** Optimus Prime/Ratchet  
>  **Content Notes:** Smut (sticky/pnp), first times, valve play, oral, mention of mechpreg, someone forgot the condoms, oops.
> 
> For MlleMusketeer, who once upon a time expressed a wish to see Ratchet coach a nervous first-timer Optimus through interfacing. I, needing to throw myself back into the swing of OTP smutness, adopted the idea, since it sounded like a bucket of fun. It evolved into something a little different, but I think the basics are still there XD
> 
> It... took a while, but Kem is back in business, baby! 8D

…

_give me something fun to do_  
 _like a life of loving you_

...

ALL THINGS NEW

The great engines of the  _Nemesis_  throbbed, propelling the warship through the atmosphere high over the coastal plains southwest of the Sea of Rust.

Optimus stared down from the bridge at the flooding glow of the Omega Lock's fast-advancing pulse. It looped and whirled through ancient Patterner markings, sudden blooms outside of the pattern marking the craters of long-ago war. As he watched, it headed west, following engraved channels carved into the terraces that stepped gradually down to the Rust Sea coast on the far starboard horizon.

It seemed like a fanciful recharge flux. Cybertron, alive and sparkling below him in the beatific light of a new dawn.

Optimus shook his helm, hoping that the motion would shake away the last vestiges of surreality that coloured his vision. He kept expecting to turn around and face Megatron on the narrow catwalk behind him, red optics alight and dente bared in that devil-may-care grin.

But the war was over, the warlord dead, his followers scattered to the winds. And the mech at the warship's controls now was a little yellow scout, whom had somehow found strength and vision enough within him to lift the Star Saber against Megatron.

The sound of soft footsteps behind him lifted Optimus from his reverie. He turned, refocusing his optics into the bridge's shadowy atmosphere.

Ratchet lifted a tired hand in greeting. “Good morning, Optimus.”

Smiling, Optimus motioned him closer. “Good morning, old friend.”

Lances of sunlight reflected off the planes of distant mountains. The pinks and oranges of dawn gave way to soft blue-white, which in turn darkened smoothly to rich azure overhead, nearby stars picked out faint in the morning sky. A shelf of low clouds marched along the northern horizon, distant stormclouds gathering strength over the open sea.

“I never thought I'd see that again,” said Ratchet, his voice a reverent whisper. “Not in my lifetime. I thought Bumblebee would be lucky to see it in his lifetime.”

Optimus shifted, searching out a stance which put less weight upon his right leg, injured in the last battle. “We are all exceedingly lucky to be able to witness it.”

“You most of all,” said Ratchet, and a small hand reached its way around Optimus' waist, and squeezed tight. “I lost count of how many times you've cheated death a long time ago. Mortilus ought to demand an apology.”

“If she can catch me,” Optimus replied with a faint smile. And finally it sunk in, the knowledge that the war was _over_. No longer would he, or anyone else, have to put themselves in harm's way.

There was no-one else on the bridge. He knelt, putting himself on a level closer to Ratchet's, and gathered the medic into his arms.

Surprise flared through Ratchet's EM field, but close on its heels came a wash of warm, relieved affection. He relaxed, armour loosening from his frame, and pressed himself against Optimus' body. His spark thrummed fast and strong within his chest. He looked up at Optimus, the corners of his mouth lifting in a heartfelt smile.

“You're unusually demonstrative today.” Ratchet's palms pressed flat against Optimus' chest, fingers tracing the edge of his windshield. “Not that I'm complaining, of course.”

Optimus laced his fingers together at the small of Ratchet's back, loosening his hold. “I have my reasons.” He leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to the crown of Ratchet's helm. “They for the most part involve returning to the base to find you gone. I was very much afraid that the next time I saw you, you would be dead.”

Another small kiss, and he lowered his voice. “I have not been so afraid of anything in a very long time.”

Solemn sympathy eddied through Ratchet's field. There was still a trace of energon around his mouth, seeping from battered features.

“I wasn't quite ready to go without a fight.” He rose on the tips of his pedes, looping his arms around Optimus' neck. “I decided a while ago that that wasn't for me.”

Optimus kissed his lips this time, quick and sweet. “I am so very glad for that,” he said. He looped a hand around the back of Ratchet's head, pressed his forehelm to Ratchet's. “You made all this possible.”

Ratchet's optics fluttered closed. “Well,” he said, a flush of self-conscious pride suffusing his field, “I wasn't the only one. Bulkhead, and you, and Bumblebee; you all helped. And as much as I hate to say it, so did Knock Out and Shockwave.”

“Still, you finished the synth-en formula,” said Optimus, and kissed him again before he had time to argue the point.

Ratchet was right; he was being far more openly affectionate than usual.

Perhaps it was past time he did something about that.

Ratchet hummed a short refrain and broke the kiss, settling back on his pedes.

“Perhaps we ought to find somewhere to sit down and do this a little more comfortably,” he suggested. “You seem as though you have something on your mind.”

“I do.” Optimus vented evenly. “Many things, some more pressing than others.”

“Such as?” said Ratchet.

“Our relationship,” Optimus ventured, watching him carefully for a reaction. “Specifically, intimacy.”

Ratchet's optics widened a touch, his field sharpening attentively.

It occurred to Optimus that he ought to be nervous, but rather, he was filled with a calm sort of surety, as if he had been walking on shifting sands for vorn on end and only now come to solid ground.

“I think,” he continued, slowly, testing each word for veracity before he spoke it, “that when I resolved to remain celibate in obeisance to the ancient strictures, I made the wrong decision.”

“What do you mean?” Ratchet asked, his voice nearly a whisper.

Ratchet had never been anything but supportive of Optimus' choice, understanding his deep spiritual conviction that a Prime should not engage with one of his subjects over others and that though Optimus could never stop loving him, interfacing then and there would have been too much, too far. He'd held him and calmed him as he shook with guilt over their first kisses, had waited patiently while Optimus stalked back and forth across the floor, gathering the courage to share his berth for the first time. He'd never pushed, or complained, or coerced. It was far more than Optimus would ever have expected of anyone, and he'd been prepared to see the end of their partnership before it had even started.

But Ratchet had accepted his choice.

Optimus glanced past him, at the glorious sunrise rushing past outside the ship. Light glimmered at the horizons, reminding him of all they'd given, and had taken from them, to achieve this moment.

He found his equilibrium, and returned to Ratchet's earnest gaze.

“I mean that you nearly died, and while you were gone, I realised that I wanted to share myself with you –  _all_  of myself – more than I wanted to remain true to the old sacraments. I acknowledge the responsibilities and duties of Primacy, but I cannot go on denying myself – and denying you, simply for the sake of my own fears of inadequacy.”

Ratchet made a noise, as if to disagree with the very idea of Optimus being an inadequate Prime. Optimus smiled down at him, and continued. “When I chose celibacy, I made that first decision under the assumption that one path was more inherently right than the other. I see now that I was wrong, and that both paths are right, for different reasons.”

Surprise and disbelief warred in Ratchet's optics. A moment, and the corners of his mouth lifted into an almost shy smile. “I was afraid of the same thing,” he admitted. “I... I don't ever want to pressure you into something you do not feel ready for, but, facing Megatron, I wished to the bottom of my spark that I'd held out a little longer.”

Optimus returned the smile. “I hope that it is not too late for me to change my mind?”

Ratchet chuffed a short laugh through his vents. “I'm not listed as dead on my service record just yet, so I suppose you're in luck.”

“Well, then,” Optimus murmured, and his servos moved lower on Ratchet's frame. “Shall we find that elsewhere you spoke of?”

Ratchet's smile grew wicked. “I think we're going to need a bigger space for what you have in mind.”

* * *

They ended up in the medbay's one private exam room. It was almost the only place on the ship not outfitted with security cameras, Megatron's own berthroom notwithstanding. (To which they didn't know the entry key, among other reasons Optimus wasn't about to touch it with a ten-foot pole.)

Ratchet fiddled with the too-small examination berth for a moment. A dull clank, and it folded out into something much more suiting their respective sizes.

They stared at each other from opposite sides of the berth. Here came the nerves Optimus had escaped earlier, rising from the pit of his fuel converter into his intakes.

Ratchet broke the silence. “You really want to do this with me?” he said, his voice much smaller than usual.

Optimus nodded, firmed his resolve. “I do.”

Ratchet looked at him, his attention trailing down Optimus' frame, taking in the curves and seams, the small injuries left over from the final battle. His EM field flickered, warm reds suffusing the wavelengths, and reaching out in a pattern Optimus' long-dormant interface protocols recognised as eager arousal.

The medic vented deep. “Lights on, or off?”

Optimus reached for the wall switch on automatic. He considered the options for a moment, then dialed them down to the lowest setting. Colours dulled out into greys; shadows deepened. Their optics glimmered in the dark.

Ratchet lay down on the berth, reached a hand out to him, silent invitation.

Making the decision was all well and good, but going through with it was another kettle of organic oceandwellers entirely.

Optimus approached the berth, working up the nerve to take Ratchet's hand. He could feel the guilt and the old fear building up in his spark, but by Primus he was not going to let it win. Not today.

He touched the edge of the berth, laid his hands flat on the mesh surface. Ratchet had turned onto his side, waiting, watching.

Optimus closed his optics and hauled his weight onto the berth.

Ratchet's servos were on him as soon as he settled, running soothingly across his shoulders and chest. “I love you,” he murmured, taking hold of Optimus' servos. “Regardless of whether we make ourselves a mated pair or not, I'm so happy that you've chosen me.”

Optimus wrapped his arms around Ratchet. “And I likewise.”

Ratchet smiled. He wriggled closer, and tipped his face up to kiss Optimus.

They lay like that for a while, arms around each other's bodies, mouths brushing together in little soft simple kisses. Optimus found a rhythm to it; his spark calmed.

He slid his hands down Ratchet's back, grasping his lumbar curve. Ratchet's backstruts arched just a little, and the movement brushed his grill against Optimus' abdominal plating. A thrill of tactile data surged through his neural net beneath the plating, electricity prickling at his protoform.

Ratchet swept the tip of his glossa over Optimus' lower lip. Internal comms crackled as their kiss deepened. ::  _How do you want me?_  ::

The question released a flood of long-repressed desires from Optimus' hard drives. He felt imagined touches to his valve, Ratchet's deft fingers sliding deep inside him, saw sparks dancing from bared connector ports, heard Ratchet's voice raised in begging moans as Optimus spread his legs wide and settled between them, breaching his tight, wet entrance—

::  _Every possible way_  :: he replied with a groan, as Ratchet's glossa slid against his and Ratchet's digits dipped between the gaps of his plating at his waist, plucking at his shallowest tactile sensors. ::  _Please, I'd like for you to choose. For the first time, at least._  ::

Ratchet pulled back, blinking at him. “Are you sure?”

On any other day, the constant checking in might have been annoying. Today, it simply made the knot of love in Optimus' spark swell with joy.

“Yes, I'm sure,” he said. “I trust your experience.”

Ratchet's lips quirked upwards at the corners. “You'll learn soon enough yourself.” He quickly sombered, propped himself up on his forearms and gave Optimus a heated look. “I'd like to spike you, then, if that's something you'd like to try.”

Beneath his armour, Optimus' valve gave a warm throb at the idea. His vents quickened.

“Yes, I believe I'd like that,” he said.

Ratchet's smile reappeared. “Well, then! You just lie back and relax, and let me take care of you.”

He leaned forward, pushed at Optimus' shoulder. Optimus went over willingly onto his back, one hand still around Ratchet's waist. Ratchet grabbed at it, and kissed his palms and digits, mouthing wetly at the fingertips. Optimus' hands were not particularly sensitive, but his neural net prickled warmly as Ratchet's glossa reached deeper into the tiny mechanisms of each knuckle. What else he could do with that!

“Of course,” Ratchet drew his mouth away long enough to say, “if you have any suggestions, I am eager to hear them. You know your own body better than I do, after all.”

“If I do, I shall share them when I think of them,” Optimus responded, reclaiming his hand. “Though you had been doing a rather marvellous job of putting them out of my mind.”

He settled himself higher on the berth, parting his thighs with a shy and entirely involuntary snap of his EM field. To bare himself in such a way, so symbolic of everything he'd spent the last millennia denying in himself, was frightening. His spark quickened, whirling within its chamber.

Ratchet reached up for his helm, stroked his jaw, his cheek vents, his crest. “You're beautiful,” he said, and it was almost a whisper; his servos trailed down Optimus' neck, onto his chest, reverential. He traced the central seam down which Optimus' pectoral armor would split to reveal his core. “I've always thought so, you know.”

Optimus reached for Ratchet's hands as they continued down his abdominal plating. The steady exploration paused; Ratchet's optics flickered up to meet his in a silent question.

Optimus gave him a reassuring smile, and guided his hands to the torsion seams at his sides.

Ratchet let out an understanding chuff. “Oh. I see.”

He held his hands free of Optimus' frame for a moment, and triggered a minor transformation routine in his hands. The digits grew longer, the tips telescoping outward. He buried them in Optimus' sides, reaching deep beneath his thick armor to tactile nodes seldom reached.

Electricity zapped through Optimus' abdominal net, under the plating, into his pelvic girdle and up through the center of his chest. He groaned and arched, grasping Ratchet's wrists as the medic gave a quick twist of his servos and  _oh_ —

Optimus' digital uplink panels snapped open of their own accord. He felt the wash of cool air over his cable tips as they peeked eagerly from their housings.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

Ratchet slid the pad of his thumb around the outer edge of the panel and made a soft noise of satisfaction. “Automatic reactions to subdural stimulation of a certain set of nodes. I have to admit, I had been wondering whether it would work on you for a very long time.”

A shudder went through Optimus' protoform, strut-deep and aching pleasure. “You'll have to teach me how to do that to you.”

Ratchet's lips lifted in a wry smirk. In lieu of a proper answer, he asked, “Would you like to link up with me?”

His voice was husky, his field hot and looming. Washes of arousal tickled across Optimus' armour.

Optimus let go of Ratchet's wrists and with shaking hands reached for Ratchet's chassis. He found the hidden catch of Ratchet's uplink panel. Ratchet retracted it, and moaned unashamedly as Optimus' blunt fingers found his primary cable and drew it from its socket.

Digital interface itself wasn't new. Optimus knew what it felt like to plug into Ratchet, to accept Ratchet's own cables into himself – but not like this, never where the sole purpose of the act was sexual gratification.

Ratchet's cable slipped through his fingers, and Ratchet hissed between his teeth and tightened his fingers in Optimus' subdural protoform; the heads of the cables were delicate and sensitive. Optimus tightened his grip and brought it the rest of the way, found his primary access port and guided the cable tip in.

Connection protocols knitted the upper layers of their processors together. He felt Ratchet's thoughts brush past the edge of his consciousness, lightning-fast and ethereal, a touch halfway between physical and imaginary. Spark data streams mingled; he registered eager mixed anticipation/arousal/anxiety and a fierce desire passing through the link, Ratchet's emotions summer-bright and overwhelming. Optimus consciously responded, the connection programs giving Ratchet equal access to his own processors. The process was familiar; and trust made the connection quick and smooth.

Optimus settled into the shared consciousness, humming an instinctual melody. He felt Ratchet's hands stroking over his belly, looping lower and lower. The sensation was calming and yet exciting, Ratchet's caresses gentle but confident. Optimus unshuttered his optics – when had he turned them off? - and reached out with his own, urging Ratchet's lower still.

Ratchet skirted Optimus' pelvic array with a loose smirk. His optics flickered, bright, nearly white with charge. He slid hands down Optimus' thighs to his knees, and worked his digits into the back of the joints.

Wicked heat shot down the insides of Optimus' legs, and up into his abdomen, forks of lightning reaching for his core. He gasped and arched upwards, into the teasing touches.  _Ratchet,_  he thought,  _oh, Ratchet!_

Ratchet brushed his thoughts tantalisingly over Optimus' tactile queues,  _I want you like this, spread out beneath me._  A packet of tactile data which when opened swept through his neural net like a wildfire kept his conscious mind occupied while Ratchet spread his thighs further apart and in one smooth movement brought himself between them.

Pressure on his pelvic array made Optimus groan. He reset his optics, staring as Ratchet lowered himself to his elbows and the length of his frame from pelvic span to chest settled onto Optimus' body.

Ratchet's frame was running hot, his ventilation fans whirring, his engine thrumming away in high gear. The small mobile platelets around his optics drew tight as he groaned and dipped his helm to press a kiss to the base of Optimus' neck, the highest on Optimus he could reach.

Optimus looped his arms around Ratchet's shoulders and shuttered his optics again. He'd gone tense again, the sensation of Ratchet on top of him and the meaning inherent hard to get used to. He sent a conscious affirmation of his continued willingness across the link,  _yes, I want you here, want you on me in me want to feel you, share this with you._  And Ratchet smiled, kissed his central seam, and Optimus wanted so much to open his chest there and then for him that the desire spilled out and over the connection, helpless wordless need.

 _We'll get to that,_  thought Ratchet.  _Today, if you want it._

 _Yes!_  sang Optimus' basal thoughts.  _I do._

He felt Ratchet gather his mind, the intent in him, before the medic pushed himself up and moved down Optimus' frame. Ratchet kissed the line of his chest and central abdominal plating as he went, tracing the seams of the interlocking panels. Each touch tickled, raised warmth in his neural net. By the time Ratchet reached his pelvic array, his spike was knocking against its cover, his valve throbbing and wet.

Optimus threw back his helm and stared at the ceiling as deft fingers traced the edge of his valve panel. Ratchet dipped his digits into the wiring of his hip, sending a jolt up his side. His panel folded away of its own accord.

The hot wash of Ratchet's exvents swirled across his external components. He shuttered his optics, trying to quash the urge to shy away from Ratchet's gaze. Old habits died hard.

Ratchet's thumbs brushed the swollen folds of his external mesh and he jumped, half startlement. Ancient protocols within his basal cortex took hold of his autonomics; he lifted his hips into the touch, instinctually needing more.

Ratchet's thumbs traced the slit of his valve, down to the rim of his entrance, and pushed up over his channel until the throbbing nub of his anterior sensory cluster was exposed.

“Oh,” said Optimus, aloud, “oh, Primus.”

“How are you?” Ratchet asked, continuing his ministrations. He pushed his thumbs between the folds and held them apart, baring Optimus' channel to the cold air.

Oh, that wasn't fair; Optimus could hardly think through the deluge of tactile data. He replied the only way he could figure out how: pushed the tactile memory through the link until Ratchet's own sensory centers took up the data.

Ratchet went stiff, his lips parting in a soundless cry. “All right,” he croaked, several beats afterward, “you're fine.”

He held Optimus' hips with one hand, cupping his valve array with the other. His thoughts touched Optimus',  _so hot so wet incredible I want to be in you NOW—_

He adjusted his servo, and slid his middle finger into Optimus' channel.

Optimus' spark tightened and flared out. He forced his optics open and stared wide-opticked at the ceiling, focusing on the sensation of Ratchet's digit inside him. The penetration was hardly striking, their respective sizes made it shallow and merely teasing, but the emotional value, oh Primus.

The seeking digit found no virginal seal. They both knew who had been Optimus' last partner, and the thought was impossible to ignore. Still, Megatron had not himself been the one to take Orion Pax's seal, and both found that vaguely comforting.

Optimus' hands found Ratchet's, cupping the servo on his hip and pushing the other deeper into himself. He could feel the echoes of his own need washing back across the datalink, strengthened by the throbbing push of Ratchet's desire.

 _We'll go slow,_  Ratchet thought with a soothing warmth, _just to make sure that you're still all in working order._

He pushed a second digit in alongside the first, withdrew them both, and lightly thrust back into Optimus. His digits felt cold compared to the heat inside Optimus; the sensory contradiction triggered a shuddering squeeze of his internal calipers. He groaned, deep and sparkfelt. Ratchet rubbed the upper wall of his valve until the constriction eased.

The servo on his hip slid downward to stroke his thigh in tempo with the in-out thrust of Ratchet's fingers. The movement was soothing, but the warmth spread. His thighs tried to close around Ratchet's frame.

Ratchet withdrew his fingers, shuffled closer between Optimus' legs and pushed his thighs further up and apart. “There,” he murmured, satisfaction washing through the link. “That should give you a better angle.”

He bent down and kissed Optimus' abdominal plating, low on his belly. Optimus' field flushed with new arousal. He propped himself up on shaky arms and watched as Ratchet kissed lower on him.

Sensing his attention, Ratchet lifted his helm. “Do you want me to go further?” he asked, his gaze intense.

Optimus gave a shaky nod. “Oh, yes.”

Ratchet grinned. He went lower, kissing across Optimus' spike array and down between his legs, licking the inner transformation seams on his thighs before – finally – pressing his mouth over his hidden anterior cluster.

Optimus cried out, unable to keep his vocaliser silent. He arched at the first long swipe of Ratchet's glossa, pushing his hips up into the slick, darting contact. Ratchet wrapped his arms around his hips and bore down on him to keep him still, sealing his lips against Optimus' swollen external mesh and suckling wickedly.

“Primus, Ratchet!” Optimus' voice devolved into a binary garble. His fingers scraped at the berth, searching for purchase on the hard surface. His valve systems throbbed, charge washing through his lower body in waves. He groaned again as Ratchet brought his fingers into play, glossa teasing the sensitive external components while his fingers pressed into Optimus' channel, seeking his internal sensory nodes.

 _Good so far?_  Ratchet thought at him, and chuckled into Optimus' valve at the wave of emphatic pleasure he got in reply.

He withdrew his fingers, pressing his thumbs in and gently stretching Optimus' entrance open. His glossa delved between the external folds and traced the ring of his external calipers, setting off internal sensors that triggered base-coding protocols deep down in his hindmost subprocessors. The charge gathering in his array spread up through his belly, lit up his neural net, opening a direct circuit to his spark.

A thread of Ratchet's processor followed the activity. A beat, and he shot upright, fright in his EM field.

“You don't have a damper installed!”

Optimus gathered the scattered trains of his thoughts. He fought down the immediate reaction – a physical sort of disappointment, that Ratchet had stopped doing what he'd been doing – and searched his databanks for reference.

It was true – he hadn't ever had use for that sort of contraceptive, in fact, although given his spark typing the lack of it would perhaps have been a risk that other mecha might not have faced. Orion Pax had relied upon temporary contraceptive codes on those rare occasions that he had shared someone else's berth; Optimus Prime, celibate throughout his Primacy, had simply not had cause to think the issue relevant.

He relaxed his limbs, draping his legs over Ratchet's thighs. Ratchet's pelvic girdle pressed flush against his exposed valve, a promise of something he very much wanted to get back to.

Ratchet put his servos down on either side of Optimus' waist, leaning in over his chassis. There was heat under his array paneling, proof physical of the arousal he was holding back.

“I can make a temporary code from scratch in five, ten minutes,” he muttered. “It won't be certain, but it's better than having you kindle.”

“How high would the risk be without it?” Optimus asked. Five minutes seemed an eternity to wait – he'd already put this off for far too long.

Ratchet gave him a long, considering look. “With your spark type? Without a merge, perhaps eight percent. But I was hoping to merge with you today.”

Optimus grasped Ratchet's waist, thumbing the edges of his grill. “And with a merge?”

Ratchet blinked. “Fifty percent, or so. We're complementary spectrae.”

His hands went to Optimus'. “With a temp code, it goes down to two percent, merge included. It's really worth the wait, unless you have the patience for the 'Do we really want children?' talk right now.”

Reluctantly, Optimus let go of him. “Then I suppose we must make the time for it."

Ratchet held onto his hands for a moment longer in silent apology, before retracting his cable from Optimus' ventral port and clambering off the berth. “This is a medical facility; I'm sure they'll have the supplies to make one.”

He headed for the bank of drawers by the door, mumbling faint curses.

Optimus lay back against the berth. Embarrassment lurked at the bottom of his spark chamber – he'd completely forgotten about contraception. From the moment the thought had crossed his mind, he'd just  _wanted_  Ratchet, with a powerful physicality that he hadn't encountered in himself in a very long time.

He rubbed his thumb in idle circles over his central abdominal plating.

A part of him wondered whether it would be all that bad to risk it without the temp code. The idea of sparklings appealed to him, and from a leadership perspective a head start on repopulating the planet should not go amiss.

Still, it was a very new idea. Ratchet had made the right call in stopping; it was far better to approach such a momentuous and long-lasting decision from a position of discussion and planning, rather than be forced into it by their own physiology.

Optimus vented hard, blasts of hot air issuing from his cooling fans. The enforced pause had scarcely dampened his arousal. He found himself pressing his thighs together in a futile attempt to bleed off the charge building up inside him, his servos sliding lower on his frame quite without his conscious awareness.

Ratchet called his name. “Optimus!”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Yes, old friend?”

Ratchet pulled a datachip from a box and strode back to the berth. “Feel absolutely free to amuse yourself while I deal with this,” he said, waving the chip with a flourish. “Knowledge of one's own body is essential to having a really good frag. And I seem to recall no fewer than two major frame reformats in your medical history.”

Optimus blinked. Also true, and also something he hadn't thought of himself.

“Is that your recommendation as my physician?” he murmured, his own boldness surprising him. Ratchet too seemed surprised, his EM field flaring out, before it stroked in over Optimus' frame, warm and eager.

“Certainly, if you want it to be,” he said.

Optimus found his gaze and held it, smiling up at him. Then he shuttered his optics, and let his hands wander freely over his frame.

One went straight to his valve and stayed there, toying with his external mechanisms. The other dipped into the seam between his hip and side, teasing charge out of his subdural nodes.

He drew his knees up to better angle himself, and pushed one digit into his channel. His fingers were much bigger than Ratchet's; they reached deeper, and woke new sensors inside him. He added a second, and the stretch made him groan.

Beside him, Ratchet's engine made a strangled noise. There was a metallic snik. Optimus cracked open an optic and stole a glimpse.

Ratchet smiled lopsidedly down at him. His pelvic array had split open, his spike pressurising.

It was primarily white and orange, the upper side grey and ribbed with heavy bars meant obviously to stimulate the anterior cluster even through the protective mesh folds around it. The glimmer of his internal lubricant slicked the metal.

Optimus reached out to touch it, fascinated. Ratchet drew in a juddering vent as he did so, the datapad in his hands creaking as his grip tightened.

“How long?” Optimus asked, meaning the temp code chip. Ratchet frowned down at the datapad, an expression of ferocious concentration.

“Not long. Give me thirty seconds, No, don't--!” he added abortively as Optimus released his spike. “Primus, give me strength! I'll not last long otherwise.”

Optimus wrapped his fingers around the thick shaft and squeezed lightly. Ratchet moaned approvingly.

Finally, finally he set the datapad aside, pulling the chip from its port. He clambered onto the berth, chip in hand, and turned his attention to Optimus' abdominal port. “May I?”

Optimus pulled his fingers from his valve, and took Ratchet's other hand. “Yes, please.”

Ratchet carefully plugged the chip in. It took a moment for Optimus' firewalls to accept the new programs; he felt them go to work, dampening the transfer of charge to his spark and shutting down the reproductive protocols their foreplay had aroused.

He waited for them to settle, then urged Ratchet between his legs once more.

“Still wet,” commented Ratchet, rubbing two fingers between his outer components. He thrust them inside, crooking them against the upper wall. Optimus cried out, a harsh bark of static. His back arched, his hands scrabbled at Ratchet's wrist as he repeated the motion.

A third digit matched the girth of Optimus' two. Ratchet spread them apart as he pushed them inside, stretching Optimus open. “How do you feel?” he asked, twisting his wrist; a charge node let go of its energy and a blast of electricity ripped through Optimus' channel.

Optimus groaned in response. He sought for Ratchet's spike with both hands, hoping to communicate his intent without actually having to string together an intelligible sentence; something which seemed entirely beyond him.

Ratchet laughed. “Oh, all right.”

He withdrew his fingers, repositioning himself between Optimus' thighs. His servo felt between them; a blunt, hot pressure fetched up against Optimus' valve. Ratchet braced himself with his elbows to the berth on either side of Optimus' chest. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” Optimus managed. He closed his thighs around Ratchet's hips, wrapped his arms around Ratchet's shoulders and arched up into the smooth inward press of his lover's spike.

They fit together perfectly despite their size difference, all previous awkwardnesss forgotten in the bliss of the moment. Ratchet buried his face in Optimus' chest, groaning his name. His hips ground forward against Optimus' as if to press himself deeper. Optimus tightened his arms around him, optics shuttering, savouring the tactile sensation of Ratchet in his arms, inside him. Electricity leapt and flowed between them, sparks crawling across the plating of their joined frames.

Ratchet lifted his helm from Optimus' chest. “How do you feel?” he asked, his vocaliser crackling with charge. “No pain, discomfort?”

Optimus found his speech protocols. “None whatsoever.”

He onlined his optics and searched and held Ratchet's gaze, still holding him tight. Neither spoke; the words weren't needed.

Ratchet vented heavily, laid himself down over Optimus' frame again. His servos caressed Optimus' sides, hovering for a moment above his open ventral panel in a silent question.

Optimus released his embrace just long enough to draw Ratchet's cable and plug it into himself. He tipped his helm back and sighed as the connection programs knit their minds together, Ratchet's experience crossing over the link and just for a moment, he was both of them, feeling Ratchet's weight on top of him and the warmth and mass of his own body beneath him, clenching, rippling ecstatically around his spike—

He groaned aloud as Ratchet shifted backward, withdrawing, then thrust his hips forward, sheathing himself fully within Optimus' channel. Electricity flashed from the trigger nodes on his spike into Optimus' receptive systems, lighting up his neural net in a flash of brilliant pleasure.   
 _That's good Primus want more,_  one of them thought. Optimus wrapped his arms around Ratchet's shoulders and held him like a lifeline as he thrust in again, the thick ribs of plating on the upper side of Ratchet's spike baring and teasing his anterior cluster with each inward push.

Base coding arched his back, drew his knees up, and Ratchet found a new angle within him. He lifted himself up onto his knees and hunched forward over Optimus' belly, hands on his hips to hold him in place. Slowly the tempo of his thrusts sped up.

Optimus tipped his helm back, onlined his optics with a throaty groan. Ratchet's subverbal thoughts crowded his mind, emotional data flooding across the link between them:  _want you need you more, now, love you claim you want this always._  He pushed back his own data, the bliss, the pleasure, the love that made his spark swell until it felt as though it was going to overflow its chamber, and Ratchet made a noise somewhere between a sob and a shout and pressed his face against Optimus' core seam, overloading.

The sudden discharge of electricity was too much for Optimus' long-unused receptive systems. He arched up into a sharp-edged climax, neural net flashing white, and shook as it discharged throughout his electrical systems.

The echoes of Ratchet's cry died away. Optimus gave a shaky exvent, loosening his grip around Ratchet's shoulders.

Ratchet stretched himself further up Optimus' chassis, looping his arms around Optimus' neck and kissing his collar struts. His spike was still hard inside Optimus, his transfluid tracking up into inert gestational systems.

Optimus shifted beneath him, and their node patterns brushed together, a warm flash of electricity jumping between their spent arrays. His valve mechanisms fluttered; his array began to gather charge once more.

Ratchet mumbled something into his chest.

Optimus tracked down his speech protocols. “What was that?”

His partner, friend, and lover raised his helm, and gave him a weary smile. “I said, I love you.”

Optimus returned the smile. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> The lyrics at the top of the page are from Brooke Fraser's song _Something In The Water_ which is one of my favourite OTP songs. It's super happy, and y'all should go listen to it.


End file.
